A Punk Professor?
by TheWeirdSistaz
Summary: Professor Snape has secrets in his past that are about to come to life again, but can Harry Potter, a student he apparently hates, convince him to use them in the fight against Voldemort? And what will he want in exchange? Eventual Snape/Harry
1. Secret Snape?

**A/N: **An extended slash fic I started a while ago and just found. Will eventually be Snape/Harry so if you're averse to that, hit the back button now! Inspired by wotchertonks7's image which I would leave a link to, but this stupid site refuses to let me. Sozzles. Go search for "Sev + Lily Punk Love" on deviantart and you should find it. She's a brilliant comic artist so go look at her stuff - and she has some fantastic fanfics too, both on and off deviantart!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter - that is the multi-million-pound brainchild of JK Rowling. But I do own my imagination!

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**A Punk Professor?**

They had been the hottest group around - "The Half-Bloods", they had called themselves, and they had shaken the whole Wizarding World with their black leather look and their songs about sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll. Black eye makeup, booze and bitches had been their image, and _he_, he had been their "Prince".

Those idiots at school had classed him as a loser, but they knew nothing. _Nothing._ Not about him or his alter ego. When The Half-Bloods were centre-stage, they rocked and screamed as hard as the rest of them.

Until the band broke up. Arguments had started and the boys had drifted apart. At the same time _she_ had left him for his nemesis. In less than a week, everything had fallen apart.

-----

Severus Snape sharply shook his head, clearing away unnecessary memories, and strode quickly through the dungeon corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the direction of the Great Hall.

The start of another horrendous day attempting to teach hopeless fools how to tell poison from pumpkin juice. Every day the same. Except when that Potter brat was in his class, arrogantly ignoring his authority and impudently flaunting his "celebrity status". Then life for the Potions Master got worse.

Black cloud settled comfortably around his dark, greasy hair, and frustration at this sheltered life already building in his chest, Snape swooped bat-like into the bright hall, robes billowing ominously around him.

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**A/N: **I know this chapter was really short, but the next one's longer. I just wanted to introduce a character first, before I get more involved with an actual plot and all. Reviews are completely adored, be they positive or negative, especially since I'm only just beginning my exploration into the world of actually writing fanfiction!


	2. PMSing Potter?

**A/N: **Here's the next chapter, this time from Harry's point of view. Still no slash or even a plot - since Harry's going to be the other main character, I wanted to give him a character study chapter as well. Partly for me to work out what he was going to be like. I think I prefer my Snape chapter!

**Disclaimer:** Nope, still don't own it!

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**A Punk Professor? - Chapter 2**

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, born to be the Saviour of the Wizarding World, groaned in his sleep and rolled out of bed. Landing with a _CLUNK_ on the floor, he jerked awake, eyes snapping open in the bleary half-darkness. His scar was prickling again, as it seemed to have been doing all year, and he could vaguely recall images, presumably from a dream, of a meeting ... in a mansion of some sorts ... and he _thought_ Pettigrew had been there ...

Sighing dejectedly, he clambered to his feet, staggering slightly as he stumbled in the blankets still wrapped around his legs. Once up, he scrabbled in the direction that he thought might find his bedside table - yes, the only hope for muggle and wizard-kind alike was virtually blind without his battered old glasses. Finding them, he pushed them up his nose, swaying a bit as his brain tried to convince his body that it was awake.

Now that his eyesight wasn't so impaired, he was able to look groggily at the alarm clock next to the four poster where one of his roommates, Dean Thomas, was currently murmuring in his sleep. _4:37_, it read - or at least he thought it did; in this dim light, it was hard to tell the hands of the clock apart from the colourful 'Spiderman' image that adorned the object's face. Shaking his head and sighing once more, Harry collapsed backwards on his bed, simultaneously realising that he had virtually no chance of getting back to the attractive black void of sleep now that his brain had started to function, albeit in a stunted and early-morningish way.

_This is _definitely_ going to be a bad day, _he thought, as he resigned himself to a few hours of counting nifflers, or whatever it was that Mrs Weasley recommended for situations like this.

-----

"Harry, mate!" a tall, gangly boy yelled, clapping Harry on the back as he walked up to join him by his four-poster. His shock of bright red hair, as well as his overly cheery manner, was just too much for Harry at this time in the morning - particularly considering his lack of sleep.

Before Ron - Ronald Weasley, Harry's best friend - could continue with his exuberant greeting, Harry had turned around and glowered in his face.

"What, Ron?" he growled, clenching his teeth as he attempted to keep his temper in check. He had no idea why his emotions were so out of control this year - he'd been fine last year, and then he'd been facing dragons, grindylows, merpeople and a sphinx before being forced to witness, and help, the return of Voldemort, the most evil Dark Wizard of all time. He'd asked Hermione about it, but she'd just started waffling about 'growing up' and 'reaching a certain age when ...' _I mean, _he thought_, does she really think I don't know about growing up?! I'm not a baby, after all!_

Dragging himself back from his digressing train of thought, he realised that Ron, who was now looking at him with a very odd expression, had been saying something. Not wanting to appear uninterested, he grunted in reply - after all, he _had_ lost out on around three and a half hours' sleep, so, by these standards, a grunt was positively intellectual.

Ron shook his head, but before he could say anything else, Hermione Granger, the most intelligent witch in their year, if not the whole school, had joined them. She immediately started up an animated conversation with Ron, once Harry had brushed off her happy greeting, leaving Harry to sleepwalk after them all the way to the Great Hall.

That is, until it hit Harry that he had been perfectly right in his earlier assumption that this would be a bad day - what with Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts, it couldn't be anything else. At that point he sood stock still and groaned aloud, head in his hands - Severus Snape and Dolores Umbridge were the two professors who loved to make his life hell. Rapidly he felt a black cloud gathering around his head as he reluctantly urged his feet onwards to breakfast and the latest 'bad day'.

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**A/N:** Please review! Doesn't have to be long - you can just say "Good" or "Rubbish" if you like! I'd just love some sort of indication that people _want_ me to write more, or not, as the case may be!


	3. A Perplexity in Potions?

**A/N:** The action is finally starting! Reviews are much appreciated, be they criticisms, expressions of love, or anything in between! Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** See previous chapters. Nothing's changed that dramatically.

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**A Punk Professor? - Chapter 3**

"No, Mr Potter, I think you will find that your grade is _not_ a mistake. Perhaps if you tried to correct your unerring stupidity, you might remember that I asked for an foot-long essay on the properties of the moonflower and its uses in potions of an illusory nature, not a few inches of scribble on how to prepare such a plant - particularly since your description appears to be appropriate to the preparation of the plant for use as a recreational drug, not for use in serious potions."

As he finished his calm but sneering riposte, Severus Snape felt a small twinge of triumph. If he had been a more romantic individual, he might have said that the sight of that face so like James-bloody-Potter's wearing an expression of frustrated anger and humiliation filled him with a bubbly, warm feeling pouring from the region of his chest. But Severus was not a romantic individual - if someone had described him as such, he may have allowed his grim demeanour to lift long enough to release a short, harsh laugh before hexing them into oblivion and continuing on his way. However, he was realistic enough to be able to admit to himself that he felt a certain sadistic enjoyment in his regular torture of this pathetic excuse for a student in front of him. The Boy Who Lived? Destined to defeat the Dark Lord? Only if the Dark Lord had a weakness in his immune system for high levels of exasperation, or a low tolerance level for idiocy!

Chuckling inwardly at his own thoughts, Severus swirled away from the desk, striding down the centre of the room in a way that reminded him forcibly of how he used to enter stages in the past. That decisive strut, head high, lip curled in a sneer of contempt for those around him. All that was missing was the wild cheering that used to accompany this walk - the masses of people clustered up as close to him as they could get, desperately reaching out to touch his boots, or his legs, or merely the air around him, expressions of adoration plastered all over their faces.

His return to the melancholy rememberances of his former 'glory-days' stripped him immediately of any semblance of a good mood, and the next few minutes were spent snapping at every student who even flicked their _eyes_ away from their cauldrons. In a vague sort of way, very deep down in his psyche, Severus Snape was worried at how increasingly common it was becoming for him to lose himself in the memories of a bygone era of his life. He used to be able to thrust them away, bury them under plans for the Order, plans for the Dark Lord and plans for lessons; but now, even Occlumency and the use of a Penseive had failed to rid him of these annoyances.

Still brooding, he continued his circuit of the dungeon, dutifully complimenting that hideous Malfoy brat for the _the extreme skill_ he had showed, despite the fact that his supposedly carefully chopped moonflower roots looked like a small mound of burned mashed potatoes like those his mother used to make. Narcissa had begged him to give the boy the attention he didn't receive from his father - and although he would never go that far (he had a reputation to maintain, after all) he had to give in partially. She was the only person who knew his past, and deceptively sweet she might be, but he knew Lucius' wife was a devil with the blackmail.

*****

Harry threw his five shelled scarabs into his cauldron, and was rewarded for his efforts with a vicious cloud of thick red gas that seemed to congeal as it hit his skin and robes. Disgustedly trying to wipe it off, his eyes followed the back of the Professor, an almost murderous gleam in them.

_Why does he have to be such an ass?_ Harry asked himself, not for the first time. _I never did anything to him, but he treats me like dirt. Well, less than dirt - he lets dirt live in his hair. I bet he wouldn't let _me_ live in his hair..._

This train of thought continued for several moments, augmented when the phrase 'flicking their eyes' popped into his head as a description for what seemed to have become a crime in Snape's jurisdiction and the obvious images created by it joined with the previous ones of the lank, greasy locks that framed Snape's sallow face acting as a sort of burrow for hundreds of tiny Harries. Suddenly, Harry realised just how strange his thoughts had become. Hopefully it was just a symptom of his extreme exhaustion today. Shaking his head, bemused by his own mind, he again tried to focus on his potion even as Ron turned to him with a grimace.

"Hey, Harry, can I borrow some of your salt? I kind of dropped mine on the floor when I was trying to catch a beetle. Still alive, the little git!"

Grinning, Harry passed over the required powder, carefully avoiding the spot on the desk that was covered in blobs of what he assumed to be the various innards of a scarab beetle. Time passed quickly, each of the students struggling with their own version of the potion and only Hermione's appearing to be approaching anywhere near the necessary deep indigo that showed the Potion of Resemblance was safe to drink. No surprises there then.

But it seemed that fate was conspiring to make today unusual. Not only had Harry been unable to sleep - which, if there was no interference from Voldemort, he was normally able to do so well that he knew he could have got at least an O in any OWL in the subject - but just as they were beginning to get out vials to put their various disastrous concoctions into for the snarky professor to give Ts to, the door of the dungeon burst open.

Every head swung round to face the door, Snape included, a scathing remark already forming on his lips. But when he saw the group standing there, what little colour there was in his face drained out and anything he might have been about to say was abruptly forgotten.

There, at the entrance to the room, stood four men, all clad in various combinations of robes with assorted leather and metal accessories. One had what Harry could only describe as a mohican of deadly sharp steel points and a strange design in silver beads pinned in over his cheek; but another was much more restrained, the only abnormal addition to his person being heavy leather boots with plated heels, mostly hidden by the folds of his plain crimson robes. But the most stunning thing about them was the fact that Snape clearly recognised them. Immediately Harry's eyes narrowed.

"They must be Death Eaters," he whispered into Ron's ear, voice so low even he could barely hear it, "How else could Snape know anyone like that?"

But before Ron could answer, Snape appeared to shake off his discomfort.

"I want everyone's potions in vials and on my desk immediately!" he barked, making poor Neville actually slip off his seat in shock, "Homework is to redo last week's, since it was such an abysmal failure. Particularly you, _Potter_."

Fighting to control his anger, Harry spooned up enough potion to fill a flask then dumped the finished article on Snape's desk before swinging his bag onto his back. Hermione had surreptitiously used her wand to clear their things away, obviously eager to escape the almost visible tension in the room. As the class hurriedly filed past the strangers, Harry managed to slip to the back, lingering as inconspicuously as he could, intrigued.

Before the door slammed shut and he was whisked off to their next class by Ron and Hermione, he was able to hear the man in the red robes and boots speak in a gravelly voice that sounded almost as if it had been overused.

"So, Severus," he drew out the sibilance with a near hiss, only furthering Harry's suspicions - after all, almost everyone associated with Voldemort seemed to have a strange affinity of likeness to snakes - "Ready to take up your position as Prince of our little ... _venture_ again?"


	4. A Blast from the Past?

**A/N: **Thanks to all the people who reviewed and favourited this or any other of my stories! I love you all and it means so much to me! *glomps you all* Sorry for taking so long to update. I was going to carry this chapter on longer but then I decided this should stand alone. I'm still not sure if I made the right decision there, so if it seems a bit unfinished or anything, that'll be the reason. Just tell me what you think, even if it's negative. Oh, and this is still completely unbetaed. Maybe I should ask someone to check it, but I haven't got round to it, and there don't seem to be too many problems. But again, tell me and I shall act on your feedback!

**Disclaimer**:Again, I think the fact that I don't own a massive house and receive an amazing amount in royalties every day hints that I don't own the Harry Potter franchise. But in case you're unsure, I am not JK Rowling. Just a fan *g*. But I do own the OCs who've appeared, so if you ever have some strange urge to use them, do ask first!

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**A Punk Professor? Chapter 4**

Severus Tobias Snape was annoyed.

_Very _annoyed.

So annoyed, in fact, that the more cowardly Hogwarts students that he passed in his storm through the corridors – Longbottom was obviously in this category, but he was joined by other idiots such as Lavender Brown and even Ernie Macmillan (when he thought no one was watching) – actually cried when he snapped at them. The Potions Professor didn't care one bit, of course. The brats could all drown in their own tears, for all he cared.

After all, _he _was the one with the problem, not _them_. They hadn't just had four figures turn up from out of their distant past – a past that they had locked away and vowed never to delve into again.

He fumed mightily as he burst through the main doors out onto the grounds. He wasn't a man known for his affinity for sunlight, and that was precisely the reason he had decided to retreat outside on this rather spectacular day. Teenagers shied away from him on all sides as he strode down to the lake, resisting the urge to kick pebbles just to disturb the annoyingly still surface; adults, especially professors, didn't indulge in such immature displays of temper.

At least he had escaped them now; the four men who had barged into his class and ruined his whole day – his whole _year,_ more like – would never think to look for him here. They knew better than anyone that he hated fresh air and the feel of a breeze ruffling his lank hair; far better was the dust-filled dankness of the corner of a library, or the strange-smelling depths of an alchemist's laboratory.

But suddenly, he found himself becoming less sure of his supposition.

_What if they realise that if I want to avoid them, the one place I'll go is the one place they'd never normally look? What if they guess I'm here? _A frantic sort of anxiety was creeping up on him – although you'd never have guessed it, since the only indication of approaching panic was a twitch in the muscle just underneath his left kneecap, which was of course hidden by many layers of suitably ominous clothing. However, despite his calm exterior, Severus was exceptionally worried; he had to avoid the idiots he had managed to leave behind in his dungeon. He _couldn't_ deal with them now – and certainly never _wanted _to.

But he wasn't one of Dumbledore's most trusted allies for nothing; it only took a few moments for him to realise that he was simply second-guessing himself and that doing so was completely ineffectual. Nevertheless, he couldn't stop his mind from drifting back over the completely unexpected events of just a short while ago.

*****_Flashback Scene_*****

"So, Severus, ready to take up your position as Prince of our little ... _venture_ again?"

The low voice belonged to none other than Richard Blackman, a man he had been sure he would never see or hear from again. But there was no mistaking him; tall, with alabaster skin and blonde hair that was cropped close to his scalp except for the two perfectly straight locks that framed his face. Even the dull red streaks were the same. And the lazy eye, that made every conversation with him slightly disturbing.

And if his appearance hadn't been enough to identify him, his smug and forthright attitude was enough to tell Snape who he was; Blackman was the only man who had ever actually enjoyed rubbing him the wrong way – maybe because he knew he could get away with it.

Severus could already feel the tick in his right eye that signalled an approaching explosion. It was all he could do to prevent the rising flood of anger that would quickly cause the vein in his forehead to throb and his fraying temper to completely give way to bellowing. And Blackman's eyes told him he was enjoying it. _Enjoying_ it. God damn him to whatever Hell there was.

"I see you're a teacher now - can't believe any of the kids obey you. After all, what are you other than a piece of greasy, disgusting scum that even that rat James Potter could -"

There - in one fell swoop, he had successfully pushed the Potions Master off the edge of the teetering cliff of control. And possibly of sanity as well, at least momentarily.

"Get OUT! All of you! I don't care what business you think you have here - just GET OUT!"

There had been little reaction at that. A smirk from Blackman and simple stares from the others. But Snape had swept dramatically out of the room, trembling hands clenched and rigid at his sides. Not one glance back at them, perhaps in the vain hope that if he didn't acknowledge them anymore they would disappear.

*****_End_ _Flashback Scene_*****

It was with a self-mocking sigh that Snape crossed his arms and resolutely slowed his breathing. Since when did any of _them_ pay attention to what he wanted. And Blackman especially. With his cocky attitude and a frame of mind that verged on lunacy, it had never been possible to dissuade him from his favourite sport of aggravating Severus, even when they had been more what one could call 'friends'.

Shaking his head slightly, the lank-haired professor resolved to see to them after dinner. Until then, he would simply conduct classes in a different dungeon room and trust to luck that they at least had the sense to stay put. Not that he held out much hope, given the state of his life lately.

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**A/N: **So was this just a snippet of a chapter rather than an actual finished entity? I just reread it and _still_ can't tell. Anyway, reviews are completely win! Oh, and I'd really love some feedback on my OCs as they develop, since they're actually my creations - I'd like to know how they hang together as characters!


	5. A Disastrous Dinnertime?

**A/N: **I am so so _so _sorry that I've taken so long to update this, and with so many people encouraging me to write more too! I love you all - whether you've reviewed, favourited, alerted, or done anything else. It means so much to me, it really does, and I feel so bad that I haven't done anything for so long! But I've had all the stress of university applications recently so I literally haven't had any free time. But now I'm no holidays, I should be able to update more regularly. *hopes for a miracle*

That said, I hope you all enjoy this chapter, even though nothing fantabulous and shocking happens. But it's in there to further the plot. I promise the next chapter will be more fun!! Oh, and any reviews about my OCs are very welcome, since they're the only things that I've actually invented (other than the plot, of course)!

And lots of thanks go to **MoonCrescentNeko** for pointing out a mistake I made in chapter three! Cookies for you! As a present, this chapter is dedicated to you!

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**A Punk Professor? Chapter Five**

At approximately seven-and-a-half minutes to seven, Harry Potter was trailing absent-mindedly behind his two best friends, heading in the direction of the Great Hall for dinner. Ron and Hermione were continuing a 'discussion' from earlier, over whether Trevor was a more appealing pet than Crookshanks - Ron thought anything was better than "that bastard ginger monster" but Hermione was staunchly defending her "cuddly, friendly and _very sensible_ kitten". To be honest, Harry couldn't care less about the stupid argument, and was glad that neither of his friends required any input from him.

That left him free to think over the events of the day. Who _had_ those strange people in Potions been? And what was their connection to Severus Snape? _Were_ they Death Eaters? He couldn't see another reason for their presence in Snape's dungeon, or for the oddly malevolent aura created by their unusual choice of clothing.

Not that their clothing was particularly Death-Eater-like; if anything, the leather, piercings and chains reminded him of the metal and punk bands that were popular in the Muggle world. Although he couldn't say more than that, since down the whole of Privet Drive and especially with the Dursleys, where he had grown up, such tastes were enough to get you locked in that cupboard under the stairs for three months, with a whole box of hungry cockroaches to keep you company.

But there was no chance of a Muggle rock band - or even a wizarding one - turning up in one of Snape's lessons, which left only one possible explanation: they were Death Eaters. But how could Voldemort's followers infiltrate the school so easily, and without alerting anyone? And why would they give themselves away so obviously? And if Snape was working for the Dark Lord rather than the Order of the Phoenix (which Harry was still sure he was), why would his comrades jeopardise his position?

Harry had no answer to any of these questions, and he wondered idly if Ron or Hermione might have any ideas - then he remembered that after he'd spent the whole of Transfiguration debating various hypotheses, they'd forbidden him to think about it. After all, as they said, Snape wasn't evil - he's just an obnoxious git who somehow managed to end up working for the Order.

And now all the running in circles around his own head was making his brain hurt, so instead Harry Potter turned his attention to his other problem: Cho Chang. The tall, elegant Ravenclaw seeker had been an obsession for the whole of last year, and her romance with the handsome and popular Cedric Diggory had been a constant source of anguish for our young hero. But the brutal murder of the boy in question seemed to have cured that particular attraction of Harry's - but without letting his brain know.

After lunch, on his way down to the greenhouses for Herbology, Cho had stopped him. She had, after a lot of stammering, blushing and fluttering of eyelashes, asked him to eat out with her on the next Hogsmeade trip. Harry had agreed without thinking, but there had been none of that nervous feeling in his stomach, or the absurd urge to blush that had plagued him in every conversation with her last year. Yet he had spent the parts of the summer that he hadn't been blaming himself over Cedric's death mooning guiltily over Cho - and now she was here and wanting him, he really didn't care.

This lack of a crush was in fact more bothering to the teenaged and hormonal Harry than the possible problem of a Death Eater invasion of the school. Why wasn't he interested in the cutest girl in school anymore? Why wasn't he excited at the prospect of a date with her? Why-

"-rry? Harry?" Hermione was annoyed, he could tell. Her voice was doing that 'I'm-not-a-teacher-but-I-wish-I-was-because-you-deserve-a-detention' thing it did when he ignored her for too long.

"Sorry?" he replied, shaking his head in an effort to empty it of worrying thoughts.

She raised an eyebrow, but decided not to comment on his lack of interest in what she had to say.

"Isn't it true that Crookshanks has feelings too? Don't you think if Ron wasn't so mean to -"

"No, Harry, that thing's a monster, isn't it?!"

And with that, their bickering started up again just as they started down the stairs into the Entrance Hall. Harry was once again forgotten.

*****

Dinner had for once been going swimmingly, with no interruptions. Even Ron and Hermione had stopped arguing at the sight of steaming hot lasagne with roast potatoes and assorted vegetables, and the lemon cheesecake set out for pudding was equally popular with the students. A happy rumble could be heard throughout the hall, as conversations went into cheerful territory - no teenager could be really annoyed when they were warm and well-fed.

But half way though the dessert course, all that changed. The doors swung open dramatically, and the four men who had appeared in Potions earlier were standing there at the entrance to the Hall. The blond man with the gravelly voice - the only one Harry had heard speak before - stepped forward with a smirk, and gave a mocking bow. His comrades simply stood quietly; Harry supposed that this man was the leader.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and my deepest apologies for interrupting your dinner," the Golden Trio could almost see the sarcasm seeping out of his mouth and dribbling down his chin, "But we were wondering if we could possibly borrow Professor Snape. Just for a little chat, you understand. We're ... _old friends._"

All heads swivelled to face the long table at the front of the Hall. Snape seemed to be having trouble controlling his temper, and his skin was paler than normal. But before he could reply, there was an obnoxious cough from the far end of the table.

"Hem, hem, I think you'll find, Professor Snape, that this goes against all precedents. Strangers entering the castle to visit staff without the express permission of the Headmaster is strictly against regulations and I'm afraid that, in my position of Senior Undersecretary, I shall have to inform the Minister of this behaviour. And he may wish to take disciplinary action. After all, it is necessary to maintain security in an establish-"

"Yes, thank you, Professor Umbridge," Snape snapped, rising and striding down the hall without looking back, "But I assure you this visit was as much a surprise to me as it is to you."

And with that, he and the visitors were gone. After a moment's silence, the hall was in uproar. The fifth-year Gryffindors and Slytherins who had been in the lesson earlier when they first appeared were suddenly in high demand: who were these people, what did they want, were they friends with Professor Snape, why did they dress the way they did?

Harry found himself fielding away the enthusiastic interrogation of Colin and Dennis Creevey, and so had little time to ponder again.

*****

"Well, Blackman? What is it that simply could not wait until after school was over for the day? What is this thing that is so vital that you had to stick your ugly face back into my life for it?"

Snape was literally fuming. Or at least Richard Blackman was sure he could see small tendrils of smoke rising from his hair and shoulders. He couldn't suppress a snicker at the image either, which only made it worse. Severus actually started to turn purple, but a voice from behind Blackman headed off the impending explosion.

"Can't you guess why we're here, Severus? What reason could we possibly have for all being here together than to convince you to help restart The Half-Bloods again? We can't do anything without a Prince, you know."

This came from a man whose appearance was even more dramatic than that of Blackman. His mousey hair was braided into dreadlocks with metal beads hidden throughout it that clacked together when he moved, and absolutely every item of clothing was made of leather.

He smiled in a way that, for a former Slytherin, was almost friendly, and leaned back on Snape's desk, crossing his arms. This new position pulled his leather vest tight across his chest, and drew attention to his _unique_ trousers. They were in a style that resembled the chaps that Muggle 'cowboys' wear, but without anything else underneath; all that covered the inside of his thighs was an intricate design of thin straps. His steel-capped boots with heftily platformed soles made a dull thud on the stone ground.

The Potions Master was silent as he looked around at their faces; all stared back expectantly. With a snort of derision, he answered the leather-clad man.

"So tell me, Sand, why on earth would I want to do that? Why would I want to resurrect an awful memory of my schooldays by recreating a wizard rock band with you?"

Richard Blackman leaned forward, well into Snape's personal bubble.

"Because, my dear Severus, you're _bored_."

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**A/N: **So yes, thank you very much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it. Any comments, criticisms or advice are very welcome!


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